


Making Time

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Chris Argent, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Rule 63, Spanking, Sub Stiles, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, showering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9568862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: He pulls out the tone that, thus far, he’s only ever used in the bedroom with her. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you that you and I are going to spend some time together so you can relax. You’re no good to anyone if you’ve run yourself ragged.”That, finally, is what gets him her full attention. “Well, gee, Chris, that doesn’t sound rapey atall.”“Enough.” It comes out clipped, and Stiles shuts her mouth so fast her teeth click. “I want you to stop and think for a second about what you just said to me. About how you’ve been speaking to everyone tonight. And then I want you to tell me honestly that you still think you don’t need a break.”She stares at the floor, gnawing on her lower lip. After a long moment, her shoulders sag. “Do you always have to be right?” she mutters.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first time writing this pairing, and it was self-indulgent as hell. I have no idea if I will come back to these two, but I know better than to say "never". 
> 
> Thanks on this one go to Greenie, Aminias, DenaCeleste, and BelleAmante for cheering me on, listening to me bitch, and holding my hand throughout this as I battled the writer's block. Extra-special thanks to Greenie for being there every step of the way, and to Aminias for the kickass graphic that served as the final kick in the pants to get this finished. 
> 
> Happy Friday everyone! Let's celebrate the start of the weekend with an obscene amount of Daddy kink porn!

 

Chris watches the pack meeting continue to trainwreck. He’d said everything important at the beginning, as had everyone else. Now it’s come down to what it always does: Scott’s moral objections and Stiles’s impatience with them when there are lives at stake. Only this time, she’s more frustrated than usual, more cutting.

“Stiles, I see your point, but we can’t just—”

“—your furry ass _can’t_ see my point, or we wouldn’t be having this discussion for the hundredth fucking time!”

“Alright,” Chris cuts in. “That’s enough. We’re not getting anywhere, and everyone’s tired.” He stares pointedly as the pack gives him startled looks.

Stiles rolls her eyes. “That was polite Chris-speak for ‘get your mongrel butts out of my house’.”

A few of them nearly smile at that, but her tone is too biting for it to really be funny. She is, however, correct and they know it. In a few minutes, everyone else is gone, leaving Chris watching Stiles pack up.

“I have no idea if you wanted me to stay or not, but the amount of shit I have to do is cry-worthy, so if you do, you’re gonna have to take a rain-check.”

“No.”

She doesn’t seem to hear him from where he’s leaning in the doorway. “I mean, you didn’t say anything pre-pack clusterfuck, but you don’t always, and, anyway, yeah, no. Homework and more research and trying to find some kind of back-up plan for when Scott’s ‘but we _can’t_ kill it!’ approach goes tits up is on the agenda for tonight. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to make it out of a potential encounter with a succubus alive.”

She walks over and absent-mindedly pecks him on the cheek, but when she makes to slip past him and out the door, he grips her round the waist. “You don’t need to do any of those things half as much as you need to unwind for a while.”

Her expression tightens and her lips purse. “While I appreciate your concern, I don’t have time for that.”

“We’re gonna make time, because it’s important.”

She huffs, trying for a laugh and failing. “Chris, believe me when I say that yes, orgasms and naked cuddles are important, but even I have to admit that saving lives ranks higher. So if you’d let me the fuck go, that’d be great.”

“ _Stiles_.” He pulls out the tone that, thus far, he’s only ever used in the bedroom with her. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you that you and I are going to spend some time together so you can relax. You’re no good to anyone if you’ve run yourself ragged.”

That, finally, is what gets him her full attention. “Well, gee, Chris, that doesn’t sound rapey at _all_.”

“Enough.” It comes out clipped, and Stiles shuts her mouth so fast her teeth click. “I want you to stop and think for a second about what you just said to me. About how you’ve been speaking to everyone tonight. And then I want you to tell me honestly that you still think you don’t need a break.”

She stares at the floor, gnawing on her lower lip. After a long moment, her shoulders sag. “Do you always have to be right?” she mutters.

He ignores that. “Drop your things.” She obeys just as promptly this time, though he’s speaking softly. It gives him an idea. “You trust me?”

She looks up at him, puzzled, but nods. He raises an eyebrow, waits. She pulls a face. “Yes, Chris, I trust you.”

“Can I trust you to safeword if you need it?”

Her voice and gaze are steady. ”You can.”

“Alright then.” He spins her so she’s facing the stairs. “Bedroom, march.”

He climbs the stairs behind her, watching her hips sway. Halfway up, she teases, “Staring at my ass, old man?”

He smacks it playfully, and grins when she lets out a little shriek. “If you mean this ass, then yes.”

He pretends not to hear her muffled, “Oh my god.”

When they reach the bedroom, Stiles looks at him expectantly. Rather than use words, he sits on the edge of the bed and beckons her over. She makes an expression that clearly asks _what next?_ “Across my lap.” Her brow furrows, but she lets him settle her on the bed and across his thighs.

He takes his time to make sure she’s supported, that he’s comfortable. Then he slides a hand under her to undo the button and fly of her jeans. Her breath catches, but she lets him do what he wants. “Good girl.” Slowly, he drags the denim down her thighs. Then her Joker underwear. He rests his right hand on the back of her neck, under her ponytail.

After a deep breath, he cups his left palm, and swats her. It’s more sound than force. Then he waits, his hands on her skin, to see if she’ll call yellow, have him explain, or red, because he overstepped.

He doesn’t expect red. They’ve talked about this before, even if they haven’t done it yet. But fantasy and reality are different things.

Stiles is quiet, but not relaxed. She’s holding herself still, waiting to see what he’ll do. So Chris moves, smacks the other cheek, a little harder this time, and her breath rushes out the way it does when he presses just right against her clit. He waits again, just to be sure. She arches, pressing her butt against his hand.

Alright, then.

He sets a steady rhythm, focussing on the meat of her ass, but warming the backs of her thighs, too. “This isn’t a punishment, baby,” he tells her, making sure she can hear it over the sound of flesh meeting flesh. It matters to him that she knows. “It’s not a bit of fun, either. Not this time.”

She gives a little yelp as the next strike falls more heavily than any of the others have thus far. “Then wh-what is it?”

He pauses, petting over her lower back, pinked cheeks, thighs. “It’s a reminder, baby. You matter. You need to take care of yourself.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He can feel the sting in his palm as it connects, harder even than the last. “If you won’t take care of yourself, then I will.”

Every fall of his hand is driving little whimpers and gasps from her now, and she struggles to answer him. “Ih-It’s not your j-oh!-job.”

He lands a smack on her thigh. “Why don’t you let me decide what is and isn’t my job?”

“Ye-heh-es.”

“Yes, what?” Chris wants to hear her say it. Wants her to understand that she isn’t the only one who gets to choose what this is between them.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He freezes, staring at the back of her head. She’s never said that before. Never even mentioned it. Stiles goes rigid, so quiet he thinks she doesn’t breathe until she mutters, “Fuck.”

With the release of that one word, she suddenly kicks into motion. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She flails, and it’s automatic to catch her before she topples right off his lap, but she startles so badly at his touch that she nearly falls anyway. Catching herself awkwardly, she stumbles away from him, still babbling and fumbling to re-dress. “It was an accident, I swear, it just slipped out—”

When she breaks off to sniffle, Chris realizes she’s crying, and no. Nothing is worth that. “Come back here.”

She freezes, eyes wide. “You, you’re not, I mean—”

“I’m not upset with you, sweetheart.” He stops for a moment, noting her downcast face. “Or disgusted. But we’re gonna take a minute and talk about it.”

When she’s close enough, he pulls her to straddle his lap. “You’re shaking, baby.” He wraps his arms around her, a hand on the back of her neck guiding her head to rest on his shoulder. Once he’s as holding her as tightly as comfort will allow, she deflates, sagging against him.

“Did you call me that because you were spanked as a child? Did I bring up bad memories without meaning to?”

Her fingers clench in the back of his shirt. “No.”

He drops a kiss on her ear before asking his next question. It’s an easier one—at least, he hopes it is. “Did you want to call me ‘daddy’?”

Stiles curls in tighter, and when she speaks, it’s fast and low—ashamed. “I don’t—I don’t think of you as a dad, and definitely not as _my_ dad, and I don’t wanna fuck my dad or have him spank me or anything, it’s just—”

“Shh, shh. It’s okay.” Chris turns a little so he can kiss her cheek. “If you wanna be Daddy’s girl, that’s perfectly fine with me.”

She jerks back, eyes darting over his face. “Really?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, baby,” he moves quickly, standing and turning to lay them on the bed, “but I like taking care of you.” He pins her underneath his bigger, bulkier body, knowing she can feel his erection through his jeans. “In all kinds of ways.”

Her legs lock around his hips, and she rubs against him. “Is that—?”

He runs his hand along the back of her thigh, urging her to let him go. She doesn’t stop the octopus impression, but she’s not rutting against him anymore, either, so he counts it as a win. “Yes, it’s from spanking you, from the fact that you trust me to take care of you. No, you don’t have to do anything about it.”

Stiles’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she doesn’t look at him as she mumbles, “But I kinda want to?”

Taking in her averted gaze, rosy cheeks, the way she’s clinging to him, Chris is about 90% sure he knows why that is, but he still asks, “And why’s that, baby? You weren’t so keen before.”

“I, uh,” she pauses, swallowing loudly. “Maybe liked that. Being spanked. Kind of a lot.”

He lowers his hips, pressing them together briefly, and he can hear how raspy he sounds even as he aims for unaffected. “Did you now?”

“Daddy,” she begs, more need than sound, and that does it. Chris leans down, pressing her into the bed as he kisses her. She arches into it, and everything from her open mouth and muffled whines to the way all her limbs are wrapped round him makes him want to _take_ , fuck her until she’s screaming and clawing up his back as he leaves hand-shaped bruises on her hips.

He doesn’t, though. This isn’t about him. As much as she’d love that, as happy as she’d be to have him do that, it wouldn’t dispel the tension tightening her body like a bowstring. It wouldn’t leave her settled in her skin, at ease. It would just exhaust her. She’d sleep, but wouldn’t wake restored.

So he pulls away from the kiss and starts undressing her. His hands are gentle as he peels off her jeans, socks, underwear. She squirms as he mouths the delicate curve of her iliac crest before sliding his hands to the small of her back. He lifts, pulling her into a sitting position.

Chris realizes he’s looming over her, but the kiss he gives her is gentle, and he feels her muscles soften under his hands. Then and only then does he roll her shirt off, smiling as she lifts her arms. His fingertips skate down the nape of her neck, making her eyelids droop, before continuing down to unhook her bra. He drops kisses across the tops of her shoulders as he slides it free before shoving it and the rest of her clothes to the floor.

The press of cool fingertips against his stomach makes him pull back. He raises an eyebrow at her, but has to hide amusement as she bats her lashes and plays innocent. “What? I’m all for naked equality.”

Before he can think about it, Chris has her hands above her head, pinning her wrists. “If you wanted equality, baby, you wouldn’t have come to me.”

She tests the strength of his hold, tipping her chin up. Offering her throat. She’s spent too much time around wolves. Or maybe she just knows how much he likes leaving his marks there. “Daddy, please?”

“Please what, baby?”

Her cheeks start to pink, but she doesn’t hesitate. “Please touch me.”

He grins. “I am touching you, sweetheart. Unless you mean something else? It’s important to be specific.”

Her flush darkens, spreads. “Between my legs, Daddy.”

He shifts, slotting his thigh between hers and pushing upwards. She lets out a little yelp. He doesn’t let up on the pressure. “Like that?”

She’s writhing, both into and away from the rough denim against where she’s tender and needy. “No, need your fingers.”

“Why didn’t you say so, then?” He has to press his lips together to avoid laughing as she glares at him, but says nothing. She knows that isn’t wise right now. He’ll only tolerate so much before issuing a reminder of who’s in charge when they’re like this. Of what she gives him.

He’s half-expecting her to try to break free when he switches both her wrists to one hand, but she’s being good for now. As a reward, Chris traces the inside of her folds. She’s slick and messy from her spanking, and her hips stutter into the contact.

It’s not quite what she needs, and he knows it. But he also knows she enjoys it, so he drags the callused pad of his trigger finger up along the sensitive flesh, around her clit without touching it, and down the other side. When he skims over her opening, she lets out a choked gasp. “In me?”

He eases his finger in, more careful than he needs to be, given how wet she is. He pumps in and out slowly, twisting and flexing, and it doesn’t take long before she’s whining. Desperate for more. A second finger joins the first, and he teases her, letting his calluses slide over the place inside her he knows makes her beg.

And, as if on cue, she breaks, babbling, “Oh god, please, Daddy, more—I can’t, let me come, please—”

The hand holding her wrists lets go, trailing down one arm to splay across her collarbones. He spreads the two fingers he has inside her as wide as he can, and she cries out. “Not yet.”

She lifts her head to look at him blearily. “What?”

“I’m not going to let you come yet.”

Distress sharpens her expression. “I will get to come, though?”

He hums, pretending to consider her request. He lets his knuckles nudge her g-spot as he slides his fingers free. “Of course, baby. _After_ you’ve taken your Daddy’s cock like a good girl.”

She whimpers, eyes going wide. But her breaths are coming faster, and she’s nodding. He mouths between her breasts hungrily, his beard scraping the soft skin of her stomach. Then he’s up on his knees to get a condom out of the bedside table. Twirling the packet between his fingers, he stares at his baby girl, thinks about what he wants, what she needs, and makes a decision.

He unzips his jeans, and tugs them and his briefs down just enough to free his cock. He rolls the condom on, and settles back over her. “You’re not going to touch yourself,” he tells her, lining up. “You’re gonna hold on to me while you take my cock, let me fuck your sweet little cunt until I come.” Her back arches and her hands tangle in his t-shirt as he glides in until he’s as deep as he can go. “And, if you’re good, Daddy’ll eat you out after.”

She clenches around him at that, and he nearly growls. He drops to his elbows, hips rolling languidly—his favourite pace, one he doesn’t indulge often, because Stiles can’t come at this speed—and suckles at her neck. “You like the sounds of that, baby? Want your Daddy to bury his face in your messy cunt, lick and suck at you until you come?”

Her thighs squeeze, and she’s breathy when she responds. “Daddy, _please_ , want it so much.”

Hips still working smoothly, mouth nipping and sucking at his baby’s skin, Chris wallows in self-indulgence. He’s never done this with her, hasn’t ever fucked her without trying to make her come, has never selfishly taken an orgasm from her soft, willing body. It’s sinfully good.

And it’s made even better by the fact that Stiles’s enjoyment is obvious in her every whimper and gasped breath, in the way her inner muscles are gripping him. Every thrust creates a faint squelch—she’s getting off on this, on being used, even if she’s not _getting off_. (Yet.)

 _Maybe_ , he thinks, rhythm faltering as he nears his finish, _maybe this is what she needed_. He slumps atop her after, just for a moment, breathing in the smell of her skin and luxuriating in the pleasant tingling suffusing his body. Stiles’s hands smooth across his shoulders and up into his hair.

“Please.” It’s a quiet, desperate sound.

He hauls himself up, disposes of the condom, and then slithers up the bed and between her legs. Palms braced on her inner thighs, he uses his thumbs to spread her open and takes a moment to just look.

“I was good, Daddy,” she whispers, voice trembling.

Chris knows his smile is more hungry than kind. “You were, baby. And you’re all swollen down here to prove it.”

Her cheeks flush and she gulps loudly. More telling, however, is the way he can see and _feel_ her muscles tighten. He mouths at her, all heat and no pressure, before dipping his tongue inside. Her hand flies to his head as she lets out a garbled sound. “Took Daddy’s cock so well, baby. Were so patient.” Her hips judder when he slides the flat of his tongue over flesh that’s puffy and slick.

He still hasn’t touched her clit.

“Please, Daddy, _please_ make me come. Need it.”

He slurps, loudly, just to be obscene. And maybe also because he likes the taste of her. “Oh yeah? Need Daddy to kiss the achy all better?”

Her mouth opens and closes, but there are no words. If the strangled whine is any indicator, there probably won’t be any. But that’s alright—he knows.

When he finally pays attention to her previously-neglected nub, Stiles’s thighs clamp shut round his head. He doesn’t chuckle, because he’s busy swirling his tongue in circles and sucking gently, but he knows that despite her literally begging him to do this, she’ll bitch about the beard burn tomorrow.

He feels a spark of heat in his belly when he realizes it’s the perfect excuse to put her over his knee again.

It isn’t long before her breath is hitching, hips grinding subtly as she starts to ride out her orgasm. He digs his hands into the meat of her ass, dragging her closer as he sucks harder and applies a little more pressure with his tongue. She’s going to come in his mouth one way or another, goddamnit. He wants the taste of her coating his teeth, dripping down his chin and darkening the grey in his beard. Wants her tender tomorrow from all the attention.

Stiles is gasping, both hands cradling what little of his head isn’t held by her thighs. “D-Daddy, oh—please don’t stop.”

As if he could, when he knows she’s so close. He flicks his tongue over her clit, _hard_ , and feels pride burst in his chest as she comes with a cry, shaking.

He stops the oral assault, knowing she’s oversensitive, but doesn’t pull his mouth away just yet. Instead, he takes a moment to appreciate the throb of her femoral artery against his fingertips, the tremble in her limbs, the way her fingers clumsily card through his hair. The taste of her is thick and musky-sweet on his tongue, and he savours it.

He sits up reluctantly when her legs fall open. Taking in the sight of her—limp, flushed, shining here and there with sweat—a fondness so intense it aches blooms in his chest. He strips out of his clothing mechanically, staring at her.

“How’re you feeling?”

Her eyes are lazy slits. “Like I should punish you for being a tease once I remember how to move.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Does that mean you don’t want my help getting cleaned up for bed?”

“Ugh, I have to choose?”

“Unfortunately.”

She sighs dramatically. “Alright. I guess I can give up my revenge if you take pity on me. Although, really, you broke it so . . .”

“Good thing it was mine to break, then,” he murmurs, sliding his arms under her shoulders and knees. It’s not exactly easy, to lift her like this, but it’s not _hard_ , either. She’s lean, almost boyish.

He wouldn’t have her any other way.

It’s a short trip to the bathroom, and instead of trying to stand her on her feet, he sets her down in the bottom of the tub. She grumbles a little at the cold, and he smiles, resting a hand against her head. Once the water’s running hot, he pulls down the removable showerhead and slides in behind his baby.

She hums when he tilts her head back to avoid spraying water in her face, keeping her eyes closed. His free hand glides over her skin, helping rinse away the day’s sweat and stress. Stiles is mostly lax, arching up into the fall of the water and the pass of his hand—until he reaches her groin.

She jerks, coming upright with a hiss, but he doesn’t stop touching her. “Sensitive, baby?”

“Fucking beard burn, of course it is.” She sounds entirely too annoyed about something she enjoyed so thoroughly, so he worms his fingers lower, to where she’s still open and slippery, and eases two fingertips inside—only to be stayed by a hand at his wrist. “Chris.”

Her voice is heavy, and her touch feather-light. Like she doesn’t want to tell him to stop. So he tests it, pushing his fingers a little deeper. “What was that?”

“Chri—” she breaks off to moan when he slides the rest of the way inside. It’s telling, that her legs spread in invitation.

“Mm?”

“Daddy!”

He hides his smile against her skin. “Yes, baby?”

“You can’t—”

“Sure feels like I can,” he remarks, tugging against the bundle of nerves that makes her hips roll and her spine arch.

“Shouldn’t, I need to—”

He tugs again, harder, and lets go of the showerhead to cup her throat. It clatters to the bottom of the tub, spewing hot water over their legs. “The only thing you _need_ to do is let me make you feel good, you understand?”

“But—”

He cuts her off by sliding his hand from her throat to her mouth. “I told you that you needed a break. Told you that you matter, that I was gonna take care of you, help you unwind so you could get some decent sleep. You can either safeword or _let_ me, but you’re going to stop fighting me. I’m not your enemy.”

He frees her mouth, letting his hand settle on her shoulder. “What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?”

Stiles turns, pressing her forehead against his throat and lifting her arms to twine her fingers behind his neck. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she murmurs, barely louder than the _shush_ of the water. “You’re right, I was fighting you. Didn’t mean to, I just . . .”

“Shh.” He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “I just need you to remember that when we do this, it’s not your job to worry about things anymore. It’s not your responsibility to look after anyone—it’s mine to look after you.”

“I’ll try, it’s just—it’s habit, now.”

Chris clenches his jaw so he doesn’t say something that’ll upset her. There are a lot of contenders, everything from _it shouldn’t be_ to something unkind about her father, because a woman this young _should_ be in the habit of letting others care for her. He settles on, “Time to help you set a new habit, then,” as he dips his right hand back down between her legs.

Pride and possessiveness race through him when she leans back, letting him take her weight as her knees fall open. It’s easy to tuck two fingers back inside her, to massage her g-spot and press the heel of his hand against her clit, to hold her tight to his chest as he coaxes her through another orgasm—explosive for how quiet it is. She trembles in the aftermath, boneless and clumsy. It feels right, to pull his fingers free, only to slide them between her lips. She laps at them lazily.

“See how good you taste, baby? Now you see why Daddy’s always so eager to put his mouth on you.”

Her answering whimper is sweeter than sugar. “You want me to take you back to bed and do it again? Make you come on my face a second time?”

Her head rolls against his shoulder. “I don’t—I don’t know.”

“Alright, then, baby. You just hold still and let me clean us up. I can always wake you with a good tongue-fucking.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his chuckle at her whimper. He definitely likes the idea, thinks that he really _should_ wake her one morning with his hands pinning her legs open and his lips coaxing her to wetness. But for now, she needs sleep, so he wets a washcloth to carefully wipe her face, before scrubbing much more roughly at his own.

Luckily she’s a bit more coordinated as they get out, able to stay on her feet as he towels her off. She leans against the counter a little as he rubs himself dry, and he figures that she’s probably capable of getting back to bed without any major mishaps.

He carries her anyway.

 

***

 

Stiles wakes slowly. It’s an easy drift to consciousness she hasn’t felt in a while, the kind that only happens after she’s slept long and hard enough that the exhaustion lurking in her bones has been exiled. She stretches before settling back against the body behind her. She knows it’s Chris the same way she knows her name—because she might not be a werewolf, but she’d recognize the scent and feel and energy of him anywhere. Conscious or not.

Especially since she doesn’t sleep this well anywhere else. Her own bed included.

She’s warm and thoughts are distant, hazy things. The promise of more sleep is a siren call she’s about to answer when she feels it—a stingy itch prickling along the tender skin of her inner thighs. Beard burn.

Memories of last night flash through her muzzy brain like a sexy montage, making her pulse speed. She squirms under Chris’s arm until she’s facing him. He’s still asleep, and she knows it’s because he feels safe—in this house, this bed, with her—that he hasn’t woken despite her wriggling.

She thinks about the hell she gave him—and everyone else—last night, and her heart throbs in her chest like a bruise, hot and sore. She knows she’ll need to apologize to Scott, knows that he’ll forgive her if she bakes those cookies he likes, but she doesn’t know how to thank Chris for what he did. Doesn’t have words for how grateful she is that he insisted last night, because she doesn’t hurt and isn’t tired and can actually _think_ today.

She doesn’t know how long she lies there staring at his sleeping face like a creeper while her lungs squeeze and her heart aches. Words still won’t come. She tries to chase them down, but they slip through her fingers. There are so many she wants to offer him, but all she can grasp is “thank you” and it seems so frail compared to the emotions rocketing through her.

For what might be the first time in her life, words fail her.

 _But maybe_ , she thinks, cupping his bearded cheek as carefully as she knows how, _maybe words aren’t what he wants from me, anyway_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I also wanted to let you know that I've signed up for the Teen Wolf Rarepair Charity Auction (for Steter, Stetopher, Stargent, and f/f Stallison) in support of organizations that are opposing Trump. Signups are still running, and bidding doesn't open for a while, but let's spread the word!   
> Info is here: https://twrarepairauction.tumblr.com/


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